The Seer and the Pirate
by Dance in the Moonlight
Summary: With the skills of Tia Dalma no longer at his disposal, Jack is forced to hire help in the form of one Guinevere Van Dort. But with the venture to the Agua de Vida under way, emotions are flying fast, and dangers are bubbling to the surface... JackxOC
1. One Tortugan Night

Chapter One: One Tortugan Night.

Captain Jack Sparrow sauntered towards the harbour of the pirate port, Tortuga. He was returning from the crowded tavern, The Faithful Bride, at which buccaneers, pirates, thieves and wenches of all sorts were currently drinking ale and rum like the fish of the Caribbean drank water.

He hummed lightly to himself as his knee-high brown leather boots clacked on the cobbled street.

"…_and really bad eggs. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate's life for me…"_

A worn-looking tricorn hat sat upon his mane of black dreadlocks, over a red bandana, while his kohl-lined eyes pointed skyward, observing the clear night sky. His black moustache bent slightly as he grinned.

_Clear skies. Moderate breeze. Superb sailing conditions. _

He quickened his pace, swaying slightly due to the many bottles worth of rum coursing through his veins.

His white shirt billowed in the wind, over his mahogany-coloured trousers that were tucked into his boots.

His rough waistcoat was thrown over his shoulder nonchalantly, obscuring from view the peach sash that was tied around his waist.

He had almost reached the end of the street when he heard a drunken exclamation from nearby:

"Oi, Ern!"

"Aye, Fredrick?"

"Fancy gettin' a clairvoyance readin', eh?"

Jack turned to see two staggering men, each clutching a bottle of strong rum, leaning outside a nearby tobacconist's.

"A wha'?"

"A seer's in the port, Ern! Yeh keen on findin' ou' wha' lies ahead, Ernie Boy?"

"Nah, not tonigh'. I fancy tryin' our luck at The Twelve Daggers. Damn Faithful Bride's barmaids…what they got against bar-fights, eh?"

_Clairvoyant, eh? May pay 'em a visit…"_

"Oi! You!" he shouted at the man named Fredrick as an afterthought.

"Yes? Wha'chyew wan'?" the man blinked stupidly at him.

"I heard you talking about a seer, mate. Where, if the mood struck me, might I find one?"

"Pettigrew Inn, innit?" Fredrick yelled before stumbling off in the general direction of the Twelve Daggers.

_Bloody drunkards, _thought Jack with disgust as he took a lengthily swing of rum from a bottle clutched in his hand.

He strolled of at a leisurely pace towards Pettigrew Inn, a public house that was little more than a large, dilapidated cottage.

Jack had been skilfully inventing an excuse to be allowed entry by the doormen, but, surprisingly, there were none. He pushed on the wood of the door, finding himself in a small, dark main room. A man sat at a grand desk in the corner, dipping his quill into a small pot of ink. He began to write, the scratching of the quill filling the otherwise silent room. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth.

"Resident, are you, sir?" the grey-haired man did not look up from his work.

"Indeed, mate, that I am."

The man nodded in a gullible manner.

"In you go, then."

Raising a hand in nonchalant thanks, Jack sauntered up a spindly set of stone stairs, finding himself in an even more poorly-lit upstairs hallway. Only one of the four pine doors emitted light from beneath, hinting that a candle or fire was burning within.

Raising a hand, he paused for a moment, and then knocked three times on the wood of the door.

After a moment, a female voice was heard from within. "Daft, drunkard pirates… third one in an hour…"

The door opened, and a woman poked her head around it.

It was safe to say, Jack thought, she was the most unusual-looking woman he had ever seen. Her soft, raven-black curls hung loosely around her shoulders, standing out in stark contrast to her snow-white skin. Her slender form was dressed in an oriental-looking silk green dress, embroidered with miniscule white lilies.

But it was her eyes that stood out the most. They would seem familiar to almost any sea-faring man who ever gazed upon them, Jack was sure. They were large, framed by thick, dark lashes and were a blue-grey colour, the type of colour the waves of the ocean turned before a storm.

She had an unsettling sort of dreamy quality about her. Whether it was good or not, he couldn't say, but it made her presence surprisingly intimidating.

"Can I help you?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Aye, luv. I came to see the seer?"

"You're looking at her."

Jack was taken aback. He had been expecting an old mystical crone, not this fresh-faced woman.

"I suppose you'd better come in, Mr…?" the woman stood back to allow him into the room.

"Smith, or Smithy, if you like, luv."

He noticed the woman smile for the first time, but it was the sort of twisted smile that one gave when fighting back the desire to laugh.

The room was simple enough, with a small, lighted fireplace, a white, four-poster bed and a small wooden table in the corner, with two cushioned chairs on either side of it.

"And I daresay you have a name?" Jack ventured as he sat down.

"Guinevere."

"Surname?"

Guinevere didn't reply.

"Ah." Jack grinned. "Fleeing from the law? Price on your head? You 'n me both, luv."

"To be one with abilities that I have is a harsh life, Mr. Smith. When I was eighteen, I lived in a village that was also called home by a lord and his son. Now, the son was arranged to be married to a girl whom he had never met, a girl whose family's riches his father wanted in dowry. Worried and full of doubt, one day the son came to visit me to ask which the correct path was for him. I held a reading with him, and discovered the maid of his household was madly in love with him. I told him this, because I never lie in a reading. The next day the son eloped with the maid, and I was forced to leave town, with a lord that never got his money on my tail. The King's men would happily see me dead."

"I know the feeling."

"On with the reading, Mr. Smith. Now, I shall need your hands."

"What evidence have I that this ain't a hoax? You really do see, then?"

"Sometimes. Occasionally I will get nothing, but I never lie. Your hands, Mr. Smith."

Smirking, Jack laid his rough, ring-covered hands in her smooth, pale ones. Guinevere closed her eyes.

"What an adventure," she murmured, concentrating hard.

"Which one be you referring to, darling?"

"Now," she said softly, her eyes still closed. "What do you seek to know?"

"I wish to know, lass, if the item I desire is possible to reach. Does it even exist in the Known World?"

Guinevere opened one eye wryly. "If one desires something enough, does it matter? The Agua de Viga rests in a place of solitude, Captain Sparrow. But it is indeed possible to reach."

Jack was impressed. This girl was a true seer, and a skilled one at that.

"I would ask why you wish to drink from it, but it would seem pointless." Guinevere said with a small smile.

"Wait! What'd you just say?"

"I said I'd ask why y—"

"No, forget that, you just said my name."

Guinevere grinned. "One cannot stay even a night in Tortuga without hearing the tales of the infamous Jack Sparrow. One particularly good storyteller could even describe you in looks."

"Captain Jack Sparrow. _Captain.__**"**_

"Yes, excuse me. You seemed to enjoy using a "Mr. Smith" alias, so I decided to humour you."

Jack scowled slightly. But he needed this woman for vital information. Swallowing, he plastered a plainly forced smile on his face. "You know of the Fountain, then?"

"I have heard stories of it. The Fountain of Youth, The Pool of Eternity… it goes by many names. Drink from its crystalline waters, they say, and live for evermore."

"Aye." Jack grinned more genuinely, his black-coffee eyes filled with enthusiasm.

"Tell me, Captain," Guinevere said slowly, the dancing flames of the fire casting flickering shadows across her face. "You plan to quench your thirst for immortality at the Fountain, this much is clear. But, purely out of personal interest… Do you or your crew know those waters well enough to sail them without fear?"

Jack narrowed his eyes, puzzled. "Luv, my faithful crew and I are, in a sense, still amateurs when it comes to travelling to such places. But, _purely out of personal interest,_" he smirked throwing her own words back at her. "Why do you ask?"

The mystic was silent for a moment, chewing her lower lip. "When I sifted through your mind… I saw a woman. She was a priestess of some sort?"

Jack nodded. "I imagine you saw the fate of said priestess?"

"Hm. Yes. Well, it would appear you are now short one accomplice with expertise in the area of my profession."

Jack was surprised. "What would prompt such an offer of charity, luv? Do you too wish to drink the water of infinity?"

"Me? Oh, no. It sounds like quite an adventure is all. I'd like to join you on your venture, Captain Sparrow."

Jack said nothing for a moment.

"And there's the matter of my payment for this reading. Three shillings."

Jack reached into his pocket, but felt only one coin. Bugger. "Lets say one shilling, and you can come."

"Deal."

**A/N: Like it? Hate it? I can continue or stop now, but only once I get some feedback from you, the reader! So reviews are appreciated! **

**And, by the way, I'm determined not to turn Guinevere into a Mary Sue, so if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to let me know!**


	2. And a Bottle of Rum

Chapter Two: And a Bottle of Rum

Chapter Two: And a Bottle of Rum

The merciless sun of Tortuga beat down upon the still streets. It was early morning yet, and most citizens of the port were deep within the cool darkness of their homes, probably nursing cruel hangovers.

Guinevere hurried along the winding decks of the harbour, a leather satchel slung over her shoulder. All of her possessions could fit into this one bag. She realized how desperate it sounded, but ignored it.

Her black curls were pulled back in an olive green bandana, and she wore the same simple green, lily-patterned dress.

"Black sails," she murmured to herself, quickly scanning the docking-area for the ship Jack had described. "He said it had black sails…"

Suddenly something odd and out of place caught her eye.

A monkey, swinging from the rigging of a nearby ship. The sailors of the vessel were causing an awful racket trying to shoo the little capuchin away. Guinevere was surprised she hadn't noticed the sound before.

With a shrill chirp, the monkey leapt agilely from the ship, landing lightly before her on the decaying wood.

It looked at her for a moment, blinking its intelligent black eyes in the sunlight.

"Hello, little chap," she said softly, reaching a hand out to the creature. She could have sworn it was smirking at her. "Are you lost, little fellow?"

The monkey made a little screeching sound, before scampering away down the deck.

Guinevere decided to follow it. It interested her how the monkey seemed to know exactly where it was going, and she wanted to make sure it didn't fall into the waves, calm as they were.

After a few seconds the capuchin bounded over the rail of a ship with…black sails. A quick glance at the gently bobbing hull's faded gold lettering told Guinevere that this was the ship she had been looking for. The _Black_ _Pearl_. It was smaller than most other vessels but seemed faster, somehow.

A voice floated down from the deck, making Guinevere jump.

"Jack, how many times have ye been told not ter go wanderin' off on me?" it was stern, as though chastising a child.

Another voice, closer this time, made her start once more.

"Come to join us, your Majesty?"

She looked up to see a smirking Jack looking down at her, dreadlock's dangling. "You'd best climb up, then." He vanished further in deck.

Heaving her satchel more firmly into place, Guinevere took hold of a coarse rope holding the _Pearl _into place. After an embarrassingly long time spent clambering awkwardly up the rope, she found herself standing on the deck, swarmed with gruff pirates.

Grinning at her side, Jack took her by the upper arm and started to guide her across the deck. Looking annoyed, Guinevere snatched her arm out of his grasp.

"You were the one who asked to come, luv. We are pirates, but courtesy doesn't count for naught."

"I- Well, yes, you're right. Sorry."

Ego fully inflated, Jack led her over to a man of about fifty. He had a strangely distinguished air about him. His face was weathered and scarred, and his brown hair and beard were streaked with iron grey. She raised her eyebrows as she noticed the monkey clinging to the brim of his large, feathered hat.

"Jack, I tell ye… I'm beginnin' ter think t'would be in all of our best interests if ye didn't bring yer wenches back to the ship."

"How _dare _y—" Guinevere began indignantly.

Jack waved a hand blithely for silence. She stopped her argument, reluctantly. "This young lady is gifted as any sailor on this deck, Hector. She'll be joining us in search of the…well, you know."

"Gifted," replied the man doubtfully, a sneer playing on his lips. "In what sense, Sparrow?"

Guinevere began admonish him hotly once more, but Jack interrupted. "She's a seer."

The man's yellowy eyes widened a fraction and he looked at Guinevere with a new respect.

"A mystic, eh? What be yer name, lass?"

"Guinevere Van Dort."

Hector Barbossa nodded before turning away abruptly, with a bark of "Stow cargo, secure provisions! Step lively, ye lazy bilge rats!"

"He's a strange old salt," said Guinevere truthfully. She couldn't quite decide whether she would learn like Barbossa in time. At the moment, she definitely did not.

"If you mean by "strange" mutinous, know-it-all, yeasty codpiece, then I agree." Jack said.

Suddenly a new man joined them. He was stout, with steely grey hair and bushy eyebrows.

"Ah, Master Gibbs." Jack slapped the newcomer on the back enthusiastically.

However Gibbs didn't smile. He regarded Guinevere darkly. "Captain, we've sailed with two women on our decks over the years," he looked imploringly at Jack. "And each time misfortune has followed."

Jack began to reply, but Guinevere looked nervous. "Jack, he's right. Women on a ship…its bad luck."

"Surely you can't think...?"

"It's bad luck. Such a poor way to begin a voyage. I can't believe I never thought of this before…" suddenly she clicked her fingers. "No, wait, I've got it!"

Without warning, she seized Jack's knife from his leather belt. Ignoring his shout of annoyance, she lifted it to her tresses and cut off a lock. It unfolded in her palm like a silky flower. With a flourish, she tossed it overboard, into the royal-blue waves.

"Bad luck countered," she smiled.

"Believe in superstitions, do ye, lass?" Gibbs asked.

"Oh yes," she nodded seriously. "My grandmother always kept an iron horseshoe in my cot as a baby."

Jack rolled his kohl-lined eyes. "Keep moving, Queen of the Pixies," he sighed, dragging her onwards.

Bellow deck, he turned to her.

"You, know, luv, I've had some thoughts about last night."

"Cold feet, Captain?" she taunted.

"Of course not. But… what will you be able to do for us?"

"Imagine, Jack, a power that can ask spirits for help should we become stranded? Ask them to light the way should we wander off course? The departed occasionally can and will help, Jack. They just need to be asked by the right person. I was taught the art by my grandmother, who was taught by her grandmother, who was taught by-"

"Let me guess: her grandmother?"

"No, actually, her uncle."

"Well, when you put it that way."

"Yes, I thought so," smirking, she paused. "Do you have clothing on the ship, Jack? I feel out of place."

"Pirate garb is unflattering for young women. A dress or nothing, that's my rule."

"I'll bet it is," she rolled her eyes.

"Unfortunately, I have no dress in my cabin."

"I suppose unflattering attire it is, then."

In a small storage cabin later, Guinevere fished out a stained cream shirt and brown breeches. For extra modesty, she pulled on a tattered maroon waistcoat. She had never been one for corsets and lace, so she wanted to dress unrevealingly as possible. She was unable to find more practical footwear, however, so stuck with her soft, brown leather shoes.

She pulled the clothes on, not before checking the keyhole for Peeping Toms. Or Peeping Jacks, more likely.

Emerging a few minutes later, she passed Jack himself, on the steps to the deck. In one hand he held a broken compass, its needle swinging wildly. In the other was a rum bottle, which he was currently pulling the cork out of with his teeth.

"You do know it's only morning?" said Guinevere slowly.

Jack gave a slurp of agreement through his gulping of rum.

"Isn't it a little early for rum?" she wrinkled her nose. "Shouldn't you wait until at least noon?"

Jack shrugged, coming up for air after the long draught. "Its noon somewhere, luv."

"Heading, sir?" asked Gibbs once they climbed into the blinding sunlight of the deck.

"Aye." Jack grinned. "Make sail for the Island."

"_The _Island?" Guinevere questioned.

"Aye. We've got a pick-up to make."

**A/N: And that's Chapter Two! Yay! **

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**Lipstick.Lullabies: Glad you like Guinevere! I'll be revealing more about her in the next couple of chapters, although not right away. Kudos to you for being my first reviewer!**

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	3. A Reunion

Chapter Three: A Reunion

Three days had passed. The sun was fast sinking into the horizon, and the humid, sticky air was mercifully turning into a cool, shady breeze.

Guinevere blew her hair out of her eyes, plucking at her cream shirt, trying to let some air in.

"For the last time, Jack," she said irritably. "Who are we collecting at this godforsaken island?"

"I know it's hot, luv, but that really is no excuse to be rude."

The pirate was pouring over a set of oriental-looking charts, sipping –well, inhaling— from a bottle of cloudy rum. After merely three days of sailing with the pirate, Guinevere was certain she never wanted to see, smell, or touch, let alone swallow, a mouthful of the infernal drink again. _Ever_.

Jack looked up, grinning tauntingly. "Use your _skills of the arcane _to find out for yourself,"

Guinevere raised an eyebrow. "I will not exploit my gifts on such pointless fancies."

"What's the point in havin' em if you don't exploit em?"

Sick of Jack's mindless banter, she moved to the stern of the ship.

Sliding into a sitting position, back rested against a crate, Guinevere drew a knife from her waist. Gibbs had given to her a day previously, in case she had need for it. He had taken a liking to her and her superstitious thinking. It wasn't a particularly well welded knife, being bulky with a knobbly handle. But it would suffice, should she run into trouble.

Carefully gripping the flat of the blade, she threw it at the mast, aiming to land the tip in the wood. Unsurprisingly, the handle hit the mast, and it landed with a clatter on the deck. She tried again, to no avail. And again.

As she went to retrieve the knife for the umpteenth time, someone caught her by the arm. As she had expected, it was Jack. Whistling, he held out his own knife to her by the handle, motioning for her to try again with it. Mildly surprised, she took it.

It was a fine knife, with a smooth black handle and a pure, pristine silver blade.

"Follow the movement through with yer arm," Jack said knowledgably. "And breathe accordingly."

He drew another knife of his own, and lifted it, inhaling slowly. Then, blowing out, he threw it. It landed with a thud, the gleaming blade embedded in the wood.

"Impressive," Guinevere replied quietly.

"On my count. And pray that knife meets its mark, luv, lest you face my intolerable gloating. In, two, three…"

Guinevere breathed in, raising the knife above her shoulder.

"Out, two, three…"

There was a whistling sound as the blade shoot through the air, followed by a thud. The knife quivered with the impact, the silver blade stuck firmly in the wood of the mast.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Not bad," He moved off without another word to take the helm.

In spite of herself, Guinevere fought back a small smile. The pirate really did seem to know what he was doing.

A barking voice made her jump, tearing her eyes away from the hilt of the dagger in the mast.

"Land ho! Prepare to lash 'er down on the sand, lads!"

And sure enough, on the horizon, a sliver of desert island was visible.

"Barbossa," Guinevere said as Barbossa sauntered past, a set of oriental-looking maps tucked under one arm.

He stopped, deigning to spare her a glance. "Miss Van Dort?"

"Who is Jack collecting at this place?"

The pirate smirked. "Miss Van Dort, nearly three quarters of a year ago Sparrow parted company with two good friends of his. Very good friends, though he'd rather be keelhauled than admit it. He believes one of them may benefit from joining us on our voyage."

"And what of the other?"

"He has no need of the Fountain. He found what it offers in another way."

And Barbossa moved away, leaving Guinevere to ponder his words.

* * *

A little while later, Jack, Barbossa, and Guinevere trudged through the shallow waves towards the pristine white sand of the beach. It was a beautiful sight, the sand soft and untouched…but that was just it. It was vacant. Lonely, even. She had hardly expected it to be teaming with people, but not even a single seagull squawked from the sunset-coloured sky, not a single lizard skittered across the sand.

The sun set to work at drying their clothes once they had set foot on land. It felt almost as though they were defacing the beach, allowing their wet footprints to sink into the warm, smooth sand.

"Remind me once more why only the three of can come?" Guinevere asked, wringing sea water from her red sailor's jacket.

"There was no need, Sparrow and I know the person in question."

"So why did you drag me along?"

Barbossa shrugged at her, irritated by her never-ending stream of questions.

They traipsed up the beach, to where the white sand gave way to patches of dry grass and sand dunes over a small ledge. Once having stumbled their way through the tall, scratchy grass, Guinevere gave a small gasp.

Ahead, near a small copse of palm trees, where the ground was a scrubby mix of dirty sand and unfertile soil, sat a small cottage.

It was very simple, with a thatched roof and dark, timber walls. Roughly cut windows had lace curtains drawn from the inside, and a puffy trail of white smoke was being emitted from the chimney.

Guinevere opened her mouth to ask another question, but Barbossa cut her off. "Yes."

The three of them walked to the timber door, Guinevere trailing behind slightly. It was a lovely little home, but…who would want to live on a lonely little spit of land like this?

Jack promptly knocked on the door.

There was sound of shattering china from inside, followed by several beats of silence.

Someone scrabbled with a lock from this inside, and the door was slowly pulled open.

A young woman stood there, dressed in a practical washer-woman's skirt, white blouse and ebony-coloured waistcoat. She was pretty, with sun-kissed skin, golden-brown hair and intelligent brown eyes.

The seer was taken aback. She had not expected Jack's friend to be a woman. He didn't seem the

type. Unless… she wasn't just his friend? The idea left her feeling inexplicably annoyed.

The woman stood there, her lips parted slightly in awe, her eyes gazing at Jack in wonder.

"'Ello, luv." Jack grinned.

"Jack…?" the woman stepped forward, her eyes never leaving his face.

"The one and only, Liz."

The woman nodded slowly, and then…she attacked him!

Guinevere gasped and jumped backwards as the woman, screaming curses like she was demented, leaped at Jack, punching and kicking every inch of him she could reach.

"All-your-fault!" the woman shrieked, punctuating each word with a blow.

"Elizabeth! Gerroff!" Jack toppled over onto the soft ground, the woman going with him.

"All because of YOU!" she slapped him hard across the face, then resumed punching his stomach as though her life depended on it.

Guinevere didn't know whether to laugh or help him. She stood there, dumfounded, as Jack swore with pain. Barbossa seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"Would've never known about the _Dutchman! _And he'd never have had to…"

Suddenly, as quickly as she had pounced on him, she woman slid of Jack, landing in a huddled mess on the ground, tears spilling down her face.

Only at that moment did Guinevere realise- the woman was with child. Heavily, too, by the looks of it. It became clear to her that this was why Jack hadn't hit her back when she attacked him.

Nursing a bloody lip, Jack gently pulled Elizabeth from the ground. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't his fault Will had had to leave to captain the _Flying Dutchman_. It was, in fact, her own. If she hadn't stolen the medallion when she was twelve years old, then…

_No_, Jack thought sternly. She wasn't in any shape to be told that she was to blame for the way her life had shaped out.

"Elizabeth…"

Elizabeth shook like a leaf, her face a saturated mess. "W-what are you-you doing h-here…?"

"Let's assume you invited us in."

The inside of the cottage was simple, consisting of one room. A small bed with a patchwork quilt sat in the corner, a trunk at the base. A fire place crackled in far corner, opposite a wooden table and chairs.

The four sat down, Jack helping Elizabeth into a chair.

Guinevere looked down to find the shattered remains of a teacup at her feet.

"What are you doing here?" repeated Elizabeth, taking several shaky breaths to calm herself down. "I haven't seen you in…nearly nine months, Jack. And Barbossa…and…well, you."

Guinevere half-smiled, unsure of what to say. "My name is Guinevere Van Dort."

"Elizabeth Swann." Elizabeth looked her up and down. She cast Jack a questioning look.

"Miss Van Dort is accompanying on a little trip, Liz. As we are hoping you will, too."

Jack hastily explained about the Fountain of Youth.

Elizabeth's brown eyes welled up once more. "Do you mean…I can have as many decades as I want with him?"

"Assuming you drink from the Fountain, yes."

"Then I'm coming."

"Well…" Jack looked hesitant, his eyes trailing down to look at her swollen stomach. "You can't be far off having a Whelp Junior of your own. I was unaware of this when we came here. Are you sure it's a good id-"

"I'm coming, Jack." Elizabeth snapped, wiping her eyes ferociously on her sleeve.

Jack resigned, nodding. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

* * *

**A/N: Wow, this story is getting some really good feedback! **

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**Lipstick.Lullabies: Thanks for the second review! Yeah, I had a lot of fun writing the dialogue in that chapter!**

**YANIsweetness7: Glad you like it! Yup, its set almost nine months after AWE, as you can most likely tell from this chapter.**

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**Review if you have the time! **


	4. Setting Sail

Chapter Four: Setting Sail

Elizabeth rooted through the trunk at the bottom of her bed, pitching clothes and other necessities into a large leather haversack.

She paused, her fingers coming into contact with something at the very base of the trunk. It was cold and metallic, and her fingers instinctively drew away. Frowning, she heaved out armfuls of clothes, blankets, pottery and other ordinary items to gaze upon the thing.

Barbossa and Guinevere had headed back to the beach to board the _Black Pearl _and ready the crew. Jack was waiting patiently outside her shack of a cottage, leaning against the palms. She felt guilty for letting her hormones get the better of her earlier, and attacking him. It wasn't his fault, not really. Things had ended up as the way destiny decided. And destiny had decided to part her and Will.

Elizabeth pulled the sword from the chest. She fingered the jian blade thoughtfully. She hadn't taken it out in nearly nine months now. Then again, there hadn't been a need.

She laid her other hand on her enlarged stomach. She considered the danger she was putting both herself and her child in. There hadn't been any promised hazard, but she felt that no journey was ever safe, no matter how mediocre. And the quest for the Fountain certainly wasn't mediocre.

But if it meant she and Will could be together always, she would chance it.

_Jack won't let anything happen to me. Or the baby._

She trusted Jack completely. And he was a good man.

She fished out the sword's scabbard and sheathed it, adding it to the haversack. Sparing the chest one last glance, she stopped again. Holding up a garment, she smiled thoughtfully. _I wonder if it will still fit?_

Minutes later, she exited the cabin. Jack looked up from his compass.

Elizabeth had donned her Singaporean pirate garb. The black tricorn hat sat simply on her golden brown locks. She had left the black oriental jacket open, the better to accommodate her stomach.

Jack heaved himself from the ground, and the two began to walk towards the beach and the _Pearl._

"I guess he wasn't a eunuch after all," Jack smirked, glancing at her bump.

"Can I see the compass, Jack?" Elizabeth asked, ignoring the statement.

"Yes, Your Highness," he unclasped the compass from his belt, tossing it to her as the walked.

She flipped it open, studying the quivering needle. It spun wildly for a moment, before pointing west: to the open sea. To Will.

Satisfied, she handed it back to him. She hadn't felt anything for Jack since his arrival, but she had wanted to make sure all ulterior emotions had vanished.

"I distinctively remember saying to travel _light_, Mrs. Turner." Barbossa grumbled once they had boarded. Elizabeth dumped the haversack at her feet. "I need these things."

The haversack was bulging, packed to capacity. Jack had a vague idea of what took up the majority of its space. He listened.

_Thump. Thump. Thump-thump._

* * *

A few hours later Elizabeth sat in her allotted cabin, courtesy of Jack. She was staring into space, thinking of Will. She often did this, mainly because it almost substituted seeing him in person.

A small tap at the door broke her train of thought. Dragging a hand through her soft brown hair, she called wearily: "It's open."

The door creaked open and the woman called Guinevere poked her head around the frame. "I'd wondered where you'd gotten to."

"Well, now you know."

"I had the feeling the two of us got of to a poor start, Elizabeth."

"How so?"

Guinevere was a little perturbed by her blunt words. "I, um, well… Just an inkling."

"Oh."

Elizabeth looked at the raven-haired woman moodily for a moment. She couldn't help being so difficult. She was anxious for her unborn child, _always _anxious for Will, and worried as to whether she had made the right decision in coming with Jack.

Dropping her gaze, she gestured at a wooden chair for Guinevere to sit.

"So."

"I don't mean to be rude…" said Elizabeth. "But who are you? Why are you on the ship with Jack?"

Guinevere grinned, remembering the agreement that had been made several nights before. "Bargain. I lend him my services, and he lets me come with him to the Fountain."

"And what kind of services did you offer?"

Guinevere leaned forward. "Do you believe in the Sight, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth didn't answer, merely stared.

"I am one with this power. I don't actually "see", though. I hear the spirits, everywhere I go. They whisper."

Judging by the pregnant woman's expression, Guinevere guessed Elizabeth would be a challenge to convince of the existence of her gift.

She would let it lie for now.

"I…think I hear someone calling me." Guinevere said suddenly, standing. Nobody was calling her, of course. She just wanted to escape Elizabeth's indifferent, calculating stare.

Elizabeth didn't reply, but simply went back to her faraway staring at nothing in particular.

_Yes, _thought Guinevere as she slipped through the doorway, _nice meeting you too._

She headed towards the deck.

"Ah," barked Barbossa briskly. "There ye are."

"Oh?"

The weathered old pirate shook a rolled up map at her. "The charts say we head west, as a start. You vouch for this?"

Guinevere nodded. "Many have lost their lives there. West, they call from. Always west."

In his usual blunt manner, Barbossa strode off without another word.

Guinevere spent the rest of the morning on deck with the crew. She still felt out of place here- even Elizabeth seemed to blend in effortlessly and was not fazed in the slightest by the pirate's gruff ways and coarse language.

So instead of joining in the chatter and games of Liar's Dice, she sat on a crate with a notebook. Her quill worked furiously, almost ripping the paper on several occasions. She was determined to keep a log of the journey, and anything they encountered on the way.

After all, one didn't go on a quest such as this every other day.

After a while, Gibbs approached her with a goatskin flask. He offered it to her. "Best keep hydrated, lass."

Smiling, Guinevere accepted the flack and popped open the cork lid, peering inside.

With a barking laugh, Gibbs informed her. "It's ale. Figured you'd seen yer fair share o' rum in the past few days."

Guinevere had grown fond of Gibbs. Though tough, he was a fatherly type, and seemed to have grown protective of her.

Not that she could ever imagine what a fatherly type should be, she thought spitefully. It was a vague guess.

She thanked him for the ale and resumed her writing.

It was only when she looked up at long last that she realized night had fallen, and the crew had retired for the evening. She glanced down again at the battered logbook. It was shaping out to be more of a diary than a log, really. But it served the same purpose.

Sighing, she pushed herself from the hard wooden, stretched out her stiff limbs, before heading towards her small allotted cabin for the night.

* * *

**A/N: Wow, thanks for the reviews guys! I hope I didn't make Liz a total cow in this chapter… but she's hormonal. Lol.**

**Review replies:**

**YANISweetness7: Glad you're enjoying it! Well, on the FAQ sheet that came with the AWE DVD, it stated that "Will is bound to the Dutchman forever." So I'm just going off the basis of that.**

**Lipstick.Lullablies: Yeah, I always wanted to see Liz beat the crap outta Jack at some point. It's just something I could always picture happening.**

**WanderingSoulsOfDarkness: Wow… what can I say? I'm honoured. Seriously. I really hope you enjoy the rest of the fic! More coming soon!**


	5. Through Her Eyes

* * *

Chapter Five: From Her Eyes

Chapter Five: Through Her Eyes

For the next week aboard the _Black Pearl_, life was busy but uneventful. Guinevere spent much of her time slowly beginning to find a place among the crew. They were a crude bunch; it was true, but not a bad sort. They began to accept her as one of their own, even going as far as calling upon her for help with their duties. However one, person wasn't warming to Guinevere.

And that one person was Elizabeth.

She was cold and distant towards Guinevere, speaking to her only if absolutely necessary. After a few days, Guinevere had accepted the pregnant woman's hostility and stopped trying to befriend her. If that was the way she wanted it, then fine.

One afternoon she loitered about with Jack, swapping tales.

"So what's your story?" she asked, still giggling over the last tale of his many escapades. It was one of those evenings in which she didn't mind his mindless banter so much.

"Which one d'you want to hear, luv?"

"Not just _a _story. _Your _story."

"Ah, well if I were to tell you my story, we'd be here for the next century or two, give or take."  
Guinevere mulled that statement over for a moment, before saying: "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. It's not like we've a lack of time."

He considered that for a moment, and then nodded. "But just a brief overview, savvy?"

"Alright," Guinevere shifted into a more comfortable position on the damp wood of the steps. She and Jack were sitting on the stairs between the deck and brig, hiding from the fearsome sunlight. It was cool and shady, and though it smelled of wet rope and tobacco, it was preferable to facing the scorching heat.

"One night during a fearsome hurricane, off the coast of Madagascar…"

Jack's tale was as long as it was breathtaking. The adventures he had travelled on, the foes he had battled… Guinevere shook her head. It was astonishing. The tale rolled onwards, finally ending with a: "And then ol' Jackie got taken back on the _Pearl _as captainbecause he had the charts, see. Some were glad ter see him back. And some weren't. And the latter category, methinks, are better disposed of."

He smirked as he looked at Barbossa, on his way to the rum cellar. The pirate, monkey in tow, grunted in their general direction.

"Now," Jack leaned back a little on the steps. "Your turn."

Guinevere shrugged. "There's not much to tell. I was born to a pair of English travelling merchants. They wandered the world, selling their herbs to folk who were interested, moving on to their next destination when they weren't. Or so I've been told."

Jack raised an eyebrow, silently encouraging her to go on.

"My mother falling with child…wasn't exactly on the agenda. As soon as I was born, they left me with my grandmother, and went back to their life. Too busy for a daughter, I suppose." Guinevere kept the bitterness in her voice to a bare minimum, but the "bare minimum" was quite a lot. She spat out the words as though they were tainted with venom.

"My grandmother was a brilliant woman; I loved growing up with her. She taught me all I know. When she died, I dug out a profession from what she taught me."

"Have you ever spoken to her?" Jack asked. "You clearly could, if you wanted too."

"No. She always told me that the worst thing I could do with my powers was exploit them for my own use. That and lying in a reading. They're both as good as taboo."

"You're using them to help us on this trip."

"Yes. But that's for your good more than anything else, more than my own."

The two of them were quiet for a moment. After a moment, they stood simultaneously and headed for the deck. The warmth of the sun engulfed their forms in a golden wave.

Guinevere noticed Elizabeth, talking with Gibbs a while off.

"You're friend has something against me," she said to Jack, who was peering through a spyglass at the horizon.

Jack removed the spyglass and looked at her. "Liz as hardened as any bucko on this vessel, luv. Respect is to be earned, not dished out in rations. She'll befriend ye yet."

"She can take or leave friendship. I just want to have as few enemies as possible."

* * *

Later that day, Guinevere was in her cabin, sitting on the foot of her bed. The whispers were stronger here. Louder.

_This stretch of sea has known death, _she thought. She could feel it. It brought a sinking sensation to her stomach, and no matter how many layers she piled on, her skin was cold and covered in goose-bumps.

Closing her eyes and opening her mind, she allowed the jumble of voices access to her thoughts.

They spoke so fast. Panicked voices, frantic, some quiet and resigned.

_Help us…no, no! My sister, my sister! What's going on? What's…_

Guinevere shook her head and opened her eyes. She could only feel sorrow and compassion for these lost spirits. They seemed to be fresh deaths, still confused, still denying the truth: that they were dead.

Guinevere sank back on the bed, hoping that they would soon pass over this area. Though she had heard the cries of the lost souls almost all of her life, it never failed to sadden and frighten her when hearing their screams, so full of torment and anguish.

Attempting to take her mind of things, she pulled her battered, leather-bound logbook from her satchel and began to write.

_Though I've never been one accustomed to "bonding", I find myself in the process of…_

Guinevere stopped, considered her thoughts, and put her quill back to the paper.

… _learning to fit in with the crew. It's strange. Belonging. I've never really felt it before. Never expected to, either. Much less so among a crude pirate crew._

Suddenly the door opened. Dropping the tawny-feather quill, Guinevere's blue-grey eyes flicked up. It was Jack, as she had expected.

He leaned on the doorframe, looking playfully at her. "Writing to some lucky beau back home?"

She hadn't expected that question. Snapping her notebook closed, she replied dully. "I have no home. I have no beau. And even if I did, he most certainly wouldn't be lucky."

"Ooh." Jack chuckled. "Fiery. I could very easily fall in love with a woman like that."

Guinevere smirked wryly at him. "I'd bet ten shilling you say that to every girl you meet."

Jack nodded. "Certainly. But," he added, smirking right back. "That doesn't make it any less true."

Guinevere scowled at Jack's annoyingly suggestive verbal jousting.

With a flash of gold teeth, he rotated on the spot and disappeared through the door from whence he came.

* * *

**A/N: So there you are. The first and (hopefully) not the last bit of flirtation between Guinevere and Jack. This chapter is so named because, as you could probably tell, we learn a lot about her.**

**Review replies:**

**Lipstick.Lullabies: Thanks! It was fun to write!**

**XShadowCatX: Yep, feel free to call her Gwen. Glad you're enjoying it so much, your reviews are sooo encouraging and perceptive! XD**

**YANIsweetness7: Thanks soo much! :D**


	6. Respect is to be Earned

Chapter Six: Respect is to be Earned

Days slowly trickled by one by one, the _Black Pearl _nearing its destination all the more with every league it put behind it.

Guinevere helped with the upkeep and duties of the ship as much as she could, from everything to preserving meat with spices, to swabbing the deck, to crow's nest duty. She wrote in her logbook whenever she had the time, which wasn't often.

Barbossa hammered her with questions often. Many of them were about the location of the Fountain.

"I for one do not believe it is within the boundaries of the Known World," she said on one occasion. "But I do know that it is possible to reach by ship. I cannot say how, but…I just know."

"How can ye "just know"?" the ex-first-mate had grumbled.

With a roll of her eyes, she replied tetchily: "I just do. Keep going west."

One evening she sat in the galley with Gibbs, rubbing paprika into thick slabs of mutton. After a little while the small tin was empty, so they moved on to using salt. Every so often they would toss a pinch over their left shoulder, just to be on the safe side.

"… So after a while, the Commodore lost us in this terrible hurricane off Tripoli. Lost half 'is crew in the gale. He tried to sail _through _it, see."

Guinevere nodded, fully engrossed in the story. "And where is he now?"

"Dead." Gibbs replied bluntly.

The words had barely left his lips when a terrible scream pierced the silence of the dusk. Guinevere leapt to her feet, the chunk of meat she was holding sliding to the floor with a dull thump.

The scream rang out again, louder this time, more fearful. With a worried glance over her shoulder at Gibbs, Guinevere hurried to the only cabin that the cries could have possibly come from: Elizabeth's.

Jack had beaten her to the door. He was already inside the room, standing uncertainly by Elizabeth's side. Elizabeth was doubled up near a writing desk, her knuckles pale from gripping the wood. Colour had rushed to her face, and her brown eyes were fixed on her stomach with a look of dread.

"No-no-no. Not yet. It can't happen yet," she whispered feverishly, beginning to quake like a leaf.

"Its time, luv." Jack said gravely.

"No..! Something will go wrong! Something bad will happen."

"Just have a lie down, Liz."

Elizabeth, looking as though she might get sick, obediently sat on the foot of the bed.

"You're going to need to act as midwife, savvy?"

Guinevere's face dropped. "What? No, Jack… no way. I _can't. _We need someone with training! Someone who knows that they're doing."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Methinks its time for you to stop fussing about what you know you can't do, and start focusing on what you're so delirious that you _think _you can do."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Aye. So just pretend you understand what I just said and get on with it." He moved to the doorway, but Guinevere pulled him back by the arm, her white face even paler than usual.

"Please, Jack. Please just stay and help me… I don't think I can do this."

Jack shook his head and winked. "This be no situation for a man, luv."

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, just as Elizabeth gave another stifled moan of pain.

Swallowing back the small, hard lump in her throat, Guinevere crossed the room and bent over Elizabeth. "Alright, Elizabeth… It's going to be alright, okay? You just need to be strong, and soon you're going to have a beautiful baby…okay?"

Elizabeth's pretty face was set as she looked up at her. "I "just need to be strong"? I'm the one with a human being kicking and screaming its way out of me! Do _you _have a child?"

This was going to be uglier than she had thought. She shook her head slowly. "No, I do not."

"Then who are you to tell me that I _just need to be _anything?!" She had barely finished this retort when her words drifted off into an aggrieved groan. She pressed her hands to her stomach.

"Just lie back."

Elizabeth, too pained and frightened to snap back, lay back on the floral cotton of the bed. Her swollen stomach heaved upwards and downwards repeatedly as she took long, shaky breaths to calm herself.

Nothing mattered right now. Nothing but her child.

* * *

A few hours had passed. Pain swarmed through her body. Every atom, droplet of blood, hair and freckle seemed to scream for release, for it all to end. But she gritted her teeth, fighting against her pain.

_Pain is the enemy, _thought Elizabeth. _Pain is Davy Jones. Pain is Cutler Beckett. Pain is the Kraken. The enemy._

And the enemy was going to be defeated.

Guinevere sat at the foot of the bed, unhelpfully reminding Elizabeth every few seconds to breathe deeply and push downwards every time she suffered a contraction.

"You're doing wonderfully, Elizabeth." Wonderful? She didn't know about that. She had no experience to judge by. But it seemed an appropriate thing to say in the situation.

The crew of the _Black Pearl _were mainly grouped together below deck, listening fearfully to Elizabeth's agonized bellows.

Guinevere was petrified. She had earlier convinced herself that her role in the child's birth would grow simpler as the process wore on. She was sorely mistaken. She had pulled back her raven curls with a scrap of cloth and a fresh sheen of sweat covered her forehead.

Elizabeth looked terrible. Her pretty face was flushed and perspiration ran down her face, neck and limbs freely. Every so often she retched, her brown eyes watering worryingly. She had given up biting back at Guinevere's encouragement, and was too drained of energy even to look at her with contempt. A light cotton blanket covered her lower half. Guinevere lifted it to check the child's progress.

"Oh, no."

"Oh-oh…oh no what?"

"I…see the head."

Elizabeth screamed in pain and fear.

"Alright…just keep pushing."

Several minutes passed, in which the baby entered the world little by little. Suddenly a wave of numbness swept over her exhausted body, followed by a grinding pain, far worse than the rest, in her lower stomach.

"One more push, come on!" Guinevere was so caught up that even she didn't realise how loud she was screaming.

And suddenly there was release, a sudden rushing feeling, and a healthy, robust wail filled the cabin.

Elizabeth seemed to be fighting off fainting, and Guinevere stared down in near disbelief at the living, strong baby that had just entered the world.

Snapping herself out of her daze, she took Gibbs' dagger from her waist and after quickly cleaning it in a jug of water, she cut the birth cord. Next she lifted its slippery little form into her arms and gently washed away the birth fluids from its mouth and nose.

Her heart was hammering against her ribcage, threatening to burst through. She felt dizzy and exhausted, but she couldn't help but feel euphoria welling up in her chest. She had delivered a healthy, beautiful baby boy.

With shaking hands, she swaddled the child in some clean cotton sheets and brought him to his mother. Elizabeth was holding on to consciousness with feeble fingers.

"He's…perfect," she whispered, her eyelids flickering as she gazed adoringly at the now soothed boy. "My perfect little William…"

"William?" Guinevere looked at the tiny child's chocolate brown tuft of hair and soft blue eyes that were already turning dark. "You're calling him William?"

"Mhmm…" she nodded slowly, getting drowsier by the second. She grasped Guinevere's arm weakly. "Thank you…thank you."

And without another word, she slipped into a deep sleep on the little bed. Guinevere tenderly pried William from her arms and nestled him next to her on the bed.

She slid out the door to find a slumbering crew, all slumped by the wall outside the doorway.

She smiled.

**A/N: Aww. Sweet.**

**Sorry if this chapter dragged on a little, but I wanted it as accurate as possible.**

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**Lipstick.Lullabies: Aww, shucks. Thanks!**

**XShadowCatX: Can't say how glad I am that you like it! XD**


	7. Benefits

Chapter Seven: Benefits

Guinevere lay in her bed the next morning, her eyes clenched shut. Plucking at the cream cotton bed sheets, she strained to remember why she was in bed fully clothed. Or why she had such a headache. Or what had happened in the last twenty-four hours, for that matter.

Frowning, she pulled the pillow from her head and opened her eyes, only to swear loudly and immediately close them again. The very daylight radiating through the cabin porthole sent an ache clanging from one side of her head to the other.

Eyes still firmly closed, she propped herself onto her elbows. _What did you do last night, Gwen? Think…think…_

And then it hit her like a ton of bricks.

Well, a ton of bricks could have actually hit her. In fact, she thought for one groggy moment that that was the reason for her headache. But then the revelation hit her.

There had been much celebration of William's birth the night before. Jack had cheerily ensured that drinks were passed around, and everyone was merry.

Nobody had stayed on deck much longer, however, that Jack and Guinevere.

To begin with, they had lain on their backs, tipsily commenting on how "shimmerery" the stars looked. After a while they had begun to make cheerful toasts: "To William! To Elizabeth! To the _Pearl_!"

Then the drinks had begun to flow more freely, each toast growing more and more exuberant. "To Aztec coins! To one-shilling clairvoyant meetings!"

And finally, Guinevere remembered, cringing, the songs had begun. Loud, off-key, spur of the moment songs.

_Ale, ale, I drink like a whale, ale-ale-ale!"_

_Rum, oh rum, I am not dumb! I am not dumb…'cos I drink rum!"_

Oh, Lord. Guinevere had never been drunk before. Not ever. She made a mental note never to do so again.

After a while, she stumbled half-blindly out of her cabin, prepared to meet the sunlight in all its agony.

Thump.

With another sear of pain from her head, she landed flat on her back after charging face-first into the broad chest of Barbossa.

The weathered pirate looked down at her as though amused, Jack the monkey clinging to the wide brim of his feathered hat. He didn't offer to help her up. "Long night, Miss Van Dort? Ye and Master Sparrow were three sheets ter the wind last night."

"It would seem so," Guinevere took her time about getting unsteadily to her feet. Even if he had offered her assistance in getting up, she felt sure she would have refused out of pride.

Barbossa looked at her. The girl had changed since boarding the _Black Pearl _for the first time. She was sharper and more self-assured, somehow.

Guinevere narrowed her blue-grey eyes. "What?"

A smirk greeted her blunt question. "It's evident that ye be beginning to discover the benefits of sailing with Captain Sparrow. The perks, as it were."

The statement took her by surprise, but she quickly composed herself with a little nervous laugh. "You say it as though I'm smitten with him, Barbossa."

"You say it as though yer not, Miss Van Dort."

And the ex-captain sauntered off, leaving Guinevere to deal with her small frown and her flustered thoughts.

* * *

Elizabeth was in her cabin with Jack, baby William held tightly to her chest.

"It hurts," she said in a quiet, fragile voice after a moment.

"Well, I'm not surprised, for one. You popped that little bugger outta you, Lizzie. And Turner men don't exactly seem to be pro-patience, aye?" Jack bit into an apple from a chair by the oak desk.

"No…not that. It just hurts to see how much he looks like him."

Jack said nothing. He had expected to see her all weepy once the Whelp Junior was born.

"I was thinking… I'm going to shorten William to Liam. It seems more fitting, somehow. What do you think?"

"Aye. Great men must have great names. And if my ears be true, Liam is a fine name, luv."

Liam Turner stirred beneath his cream blankets, and slowly opened a dark eye. He screwed up his chubby little fists and began to cry. Elizabeth soothed him.

It seemed that at that moment, Liam Weatherby Turner was the only one on the _Pearl _who felt the danger that the ship as heading towards, ever faster.

* * *

"_What_, pray tell me, Miss Van Dort, be this?" Barbossa snapped angrily, pointing a gnarled finger at a section of Sao Feng's map. Guinevere leaned over it, her black curls falling over her shoulders. She traced a pale index finger over the newly-discovered italic writing beneath the Fountain of Youth.

_To reach the spout, come up and out._

"It is the way. The course to the furthest gate- the west gate, in fact."

"We be nearing it earlier than I expected.

"Yes. Where are we now?"

Barbossa tapped an area of the map bearing a wide stretch of open sea.

"How fat until we reach the edge? I have some business I must attend to."

Barbossa creased his brow in thought, and then replied. "One day, perhaps two. Be that time enough?"

"Ample time." Guinevere excused herself and took off across the deck with purpose in her stride.

Barbossa watched her go. He didn't particularly like the girl. She was vague and rather secretive, with a newly-acquired fiery streak. And, as all women do, she seemed to be discovering Sparrow. She didn't notice it yet. Presumably, Jack didn't either. But they would, he was sure of that.

He smirked. Hector Barbossa enjoyed having his little hush-hush.

* * *

"Elizabeth?" Guinevere poked her head around the ebony wood of Elizabeth's cabin door. Jack had only moments before left for the rum cellar, and Liam was napping silently in a bundle of sheets on the bed.

"Yes?" Elizabeth looked up quickly from her leather-bound book she was cradling in her lap.

"There's something we need to talk about, and I'd like to get it over with now, if that's okay with you?"

"Oh? Well, go ahead. You're not going to get a better chance than while Liam's asleep for once."

Guinevere took a seat on a small three-legged stool, brushing back her hair. "When I told you what I do for a living before, you didn't believe me. Why?"

Elizabeth looked back for a moment. "I'm… I'm not quite sure. It has always seemed to me that fortunate tellers and clairvoyants exist in legends and storybooks, nowhere else."

"I can show you, if you'll let me."

Elizabeth was a little taken aback. It all seemed a little silly, but it couldn't hurt, could it? She knew from books that to dabble with spirits was a serious task, but a tiny bubble of curiosity was steadily rising in her chest. "I…suppose so. Yes, alright."

"Good. First things first, who would you like to make contact with?"

Elizabeth clenched and unclenched her fingers, and a small lump formed in her throat. "My father, if we could."

"Hm. Okay. Just give me your hands, and we'll see what we can do."

They joined hands, and Guinevere softly instructed her to close her eyes.

"Now…I just need you to let go of all thoughts, feelings, emotions… just let your mind drift away into tranquillity. And when you've done that, and you're calm, picture your father. His clothes, his face, his voice, even his scent, if you can."

Elizabeth did as she requested. She could see his crisp, grey wig of ringlets, the small laughter lines that had formed around his eyes and mouth. His clear, clipped British accent, the way in which he never slurred or ran his words together. The smell of freshly-pressed cotton shirts, mixed with the scent of old parchment.

A small tear stung her eyes, but she clenched them tighter still.

After a moment Guinevere's voice broke through her memories. "Elizabeth…I'm sorry. He's at peace, he's moved on. I can't find him. His soul isn't lost; it has found its way."

Elizabeth opened her eyes and brushed the tear away. At least that was something. But she was disappointed at the very least.

"Can you think of anyone else? Someone whose soul is trapped for one reason or another? Someone who died in a bad circumstance perhaps? Someone who may feel they lived their life wrongly?" Guinevere encouraged softly.

She looked up after a moment, as a thought struck her. "Yes. Yes, actually. James Norrington."

"Let's try again. Picture him; picture him so well that you can almost feel his presence…"

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Elizabeth imagining James in the last moments before his death. He had been valiant. But his demise had been… unnecessary. Pointless.

"James? James Norrington?" Guinevere's voice interrupted her thoughts once more. "I think I hear him."

The jumble of voices flooded Guinevere's mind, but this time once was more prominent than the rest. A strong, clear British accent.

"Elizabeth?"

"Keep your mind open and don't let go of my hands, only that way can you hear him through my mind." Guinevere instructed quietly.

"Elizabeth…I'm so sorry. I came into the world hoping to do good. It seems I left it having only unintentionally done bad."

"Its okay James, it's alright. You made amends."

"I failed everyone…you're father, my crew, and you. I think that's why I'm trapped in this hellish purgatory. The guilt is…" James voice trailed off, seemingly lost for words.

"It's alright, James. My father is at peace. And…I want you to be too. It's okay. You _can _move on. You can move on if you forget about needing my forgiveness. You need to forgive yourself. You can. You will." Elizabeth murmured.

Guinevere smiled, as she knew James must be.

"I think that's why I always felt so strongly for you, Elizabeth. You _are _strong. Stronger than I ever was. Perhaps I didn't love you. Maybe I just admired that in you. But something tells me that's not true. I did love you, Elizabeth Swann. I did. But I'm gone. I'm going. Good luck. I'm…"

James's voice trailed away, and Guinevere took her hands out of Elizabeth's shaking ones.

"You helped him, Elizabeth. He's like your father now. At peace."

James's last words rang like a chime in her ears. _Our destinies have been entwined, Elizabeth. But never joined._

It had been an honour to have her destiny entwined with as true a man as Commodore James Norrington.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was a challenge, but I liked writing it. I think it has a little bit of everything, ya know?**

**Review replies:**

**YANIsweetness7: Well, this ain't your ordinary fanfic! ;D**

**xShadowCatx: No, Liz won't die, I'm planning to stick to canon. Yes, I can promise something small between Jack and Gwen in the next chapter. Nothing serious, but it should be pretty flirty and funny. XD**


	8. Up and Out

Chapter Eight: Up and Out

"Ye've a little more'n half an hour, lads." Barbossa stated gruffly to the assembled crew by the prow. "I want all on deck to pull their weight other than Mrs. Turner, ye hear?"

A general murmur of understanding ran through the small crowd. Elizabeth and Guinevere stood slightly behind Jack, who fiddled somewhat nervously with his compass. He flicked agitatedly at the little glass face as his coffee-black eyes followed the whirling needle.

"Mrs. Turner, when the time comes for us ter make our ascent, I do not want ter see you on this deck. Ye've been given the privilege of almost guaranteed safety. Do not throw it away."

Elizabeth nodded and stroked Liam's forehead. It was that "almost" that made her gazed at her baby with a hint of fear in her brown eyes.

The _Black Pearl _had been gradually making its way towards the west Edge for some time now. By now, it was clear from the increased water current and the mismatching still air that it was nearing its destination. They had predicted, as Barbossa stated, that they were little more than half an hour away.

"Now. Batten down the hatches, ye bilge-sucking swabs."

The pirate crew scattered, including Elizabeth. She hurriedly made her way below deck to assure her cabin no longer housed hazardous items that could fall or crush.

Guinevere noted Jack's unnerved expression as he flipped the compass over in his bejewelled hands and shook it.

"I never thought I'd see the day- Captain Jack Sparrow, nervous?" she smiled tauntingly.

"Tis not the rising of the ship that's got me mind a-whirring, luv," he didn't look up.

"Well, whatever it is, shake it off. We can't have a fumbling captain whilst performing a stunt like this, can we?"

"I'd say not."

Without further ado, the two joined the crew in lashing down barrels, tensing the sails and locking the gunpowder in a dry, safe storeroom. With the rum, of course.

Next, the ropes were unravelled. Long, coarse, thick ropes that would be used to lash themselves down to avoid the crew being lost to the wind and the waves when the ship tilted. The ropes and hawsers were uncoiled and passed their heads threw the mortises of the capstan and the eye of the fairleads.

They were quickly dispensed among the crew. Each man caught the woven rope and slipped it hastily pulled it into a tight knot around his waist or chest.

Barbossa clasped the helm firmly, his own tether binding him to it. Not that he needed it, Guinevere thought. In all her time on the _Black Pearl_, she had never once seen him loose his footing or stumble.

Jack promptly went to check on Elizabeth, who was clasping Liam closely to her chest in the safety of her now empty cabin. He returned to the deck to observe a sight he himself had never gazed upon.

The dark, choppy water spread out a good distance in front of them, as it should. But past that… blackness. The very ocean itself seemed to drop off in a sheer precipice. The water ran of the edge of the very world as nonchalantly as if it were a simple waterfall. The great expanse of darkness stretched on for eternity.

A memory seemed to float back to him; a shrewd, slithery voice: "Do you fear that black abyss?" Jack silently answered the voice for the second time in his life: "Yes."

"Smartly, lads!" Gibbs's voice interrupted Jones's. The void was drawing ever closer. Jack threw the rope around his middle.

A few feet away from Jack, Guinevere was tightening her bindings when an unexpected thought hit her: Where was the monkey?

The capuchin had abandoned it's usual residence of Barbossa's shoulder. On a sudden whim, she threw off the rope, inexplicabley concerned.

The water was rushing faster now.

"Where's the monkey?" she yelled over the crashing water. No-one seemed to be able to hear.

She started off towards the hatch, but Jack caught her by the arm. "What the bloody hell are you doing?" he shouted the better to be heard.

"The monkey!" she pulled her arm from his grip, and threw herself down the slippery steps. She saw the Jack the monkey at once, perched nonchalantly atop a barrel of dried sardines.

"Get out of here, you stupid little cretin!" she shrieked angrily. The monkey took the hint and scampered up the stairs before her, as the ship swayed horribly.

She began to follow but lost her footing on the second step, falling forward. Rain had begun to pour from the dark heavens above, and a sharp ribbon of lightening pierced the sky. She half walked, half clambered the wooden steps to the lurching deck.

Her black, wet curls plastered to her forehead, she stumbled to the rail to get her balance, only to withdraw in shock as she realised the _Pearl _was mere metres from nothingness. A scream barely had time to pass her lips when a hand shot out of nowhere, yanking her backwards. Jack.

She made to throw her rope around herself, but her shaking hands fumbled and dropped it. Jack's arms caught her by the waist and held her firmly to him as the ship suddenly dipped and cold air rushed across the deck.

A final wave rose over the _Black Pearl_, sucked her in, unbalanced her, and threw her over the edge of the Earth into the terrible dark oblivion.

Though nothing bound her to the ship, Guinevere felt Jack's arms tighten around her as the entire ship tilted, then seemed to be pulled upward by an invisible rope.

The next moments passed in a confused blur. Impenetrable darkness. Terrified screams. Roaring wind. Deathly fear.

It seemed to go on forever, yet the terror never lessened. The dark was so intense. It was so thick, so cold it could make one gasp for breath, convinced they were suffocating. It was like a constricting blanket, thick and heavy, yet cold, icy.

The cruel wind seemed to bat at their bodies, daring them to loosen their grip and loose themselves at its mercy. They grasped tighter, and it hissed in their ears, cheated of new potential victims.

And suddenly there was a rush, amiable light, and the _Black Pearl _hit unknown waters with such impact that Jack's rope snapped and he and Guinevere went sent a careening on their backs to the other side of the mast.

The ship wobbled for a few minutes as though getting her bearings in this mysterious sea.

Guinevere gasped repeatedly, fighting to regain her breath. What didn't help, however, was that when they were sent rolling, Jack and she had still been gripping each other firmly. And whatever way they had come to a halt, she was lying beneath him.

"Thank…y-you…" she spluttered. "For…helping me back there."

"Me pleasure."

They panted quietly for a moment, Guinevere waiting for Jack to get up. He didn't.

"You can get off of me now, you know," she smiled.

"Aye, I would. But me legs be dead to the world, luv," he grinned, flashing a gold tooth.

"I take it you're enjoying this?" she snapped, fighting back a smile.

"I take it you are also."

She raised an eyebrow enquiringly. "How so?"

"You haven't pushed me off yet."

The sounds of the crew righting themselves could be heard at the other end of the deck, but neither took much notice.

Jack peered leisurely into those enchanting eyes. It was as if the stormy sky had shattered, and two fragments had fallen to earth, only to be caught in her long, thick eyelashes, so beautifully dark against her white skin.

"Hmm. I suppose not. How odd," with a coy yet enticing smile, she slipped out from beneath him and stood up unsteadily. She brushed back her long, softly curly raven hair and disappeared to the other side of deck.

The crew were shaken and windswept, yet largely unharmed. Even Cotton's parrot had only a few ruffled blue and yellow feathers. Elizabeth appeared after a few minutes, her face tear-streaked, quivering fingers clutching the wailing bundle that was Liam.

Jack the monkey popped his tiny, furry head out of Barossa's long jacket. He chattered angrily in Guinevere's direction, probably miffed at her for having shouted at him.

achingly bright sun glared down from _Bloody thing. Next time, I'll just leave it down there to drown like a rat or get blown off the ship, _Guinevere thought. She had nearly risked her life for an ungrateful monkey. Tch.

The sea in which they had landed was most certainly otherworldly, though in a subtle way. The waves slapped the hull of the ship and coaxed it along, yet the humid air was calm and still. It didn't add up. The sun glared down from between smooth white clouds.

Barbossa swiftly instructed for the anchor to be dropped. "We don't know what lies ahead, lads. Best rest and store up some energy while ye can."

The crew obliged gratefully. Many escaped below deck to sleep and shelter from the heat, leaving only Jack, Guinevere, Pintel and Ragetti on top deck.

Guinevere fetched her logbook from a lashed-down crate of spiced pork. Though it now smelled strongly of sage, at least it was dry. She settled in the shade of the mast and began to write.

_Though I am plainly aware of the sole purpose of this logbook, I find myself tempted to forsake its function and record goings-on of a more personal level._

_Well. It is my book. Why not?_

_When I first heard the tales of Captain Jack Sparrow from the streets of Tortuga, I rolled my eyes. The "ladies of the night", as it were, swooned at the mention of him and his infamous charm. How silly, I thought._

_Well, I feel I can agree with them on at least one thing now. He is indeed charming. Very much so._

Feeling a tad frustrated with herself, she slammed the book closed and stuck the quill behind her ear. She went down to her cabin to place the logbook and ink on the shelf, and sleep for a while.

Just as her eyes began to flicker dozily, a half-formed thought flitted through her mind. The feeling of Jack's warm, rum-tainted breath in hers hadn't been half bad.

**A/N: Chapter Nine coming soon! Hope you people are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it!**

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**XShadowCatX: I'm glad I'm not the only one who cried when he died. For that split-second, I really wanted him and Liz to get together. XD**

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	9. Hearts and Minds

Chapter Nine: Hearts and Minds

Elizabeth swaddled Liam in blankets and laid him in the centre of her bed. His springy tuft of brown hair had grown into a little crop of chocolate curls, and his clear eyes had almost completed their transition from blue to brown. He breathed softly and crammed a tiny fist into his mouth contentedly, shifting in his sleep. How peaceful he looked.

Her gaze travelled slowly from her child to the intricately patterned black chest on the bedside table. Sitting down, she pulled in onto her lap and stroked the crab-heart keyhole, listening to the steady beat.

She never dared open the chest. On one occasion, mere weeks after Will's departure, she had unlocked it, feeling it may make her feel closer to him. But she had been wrong. He had seemed further away than ever. That awareness had made her feel furious, and she had very nearly stabbed it out of passion. She had never set eyes on the heart since that day.

Elizabeth wondered where he was now. Ferrying spirits to the other side. England? France? Spain? Or another world like her?

It brought a feeling of unease when she imagined his reaction if he found out what danger she had put herself in.

_But I'm doing this for you, Will. For us. For our son._

She pressed the chest to her own chest, her and Will's hearts beating almost to the same rhythm. With one difference.

The organ surrounded by metal beat away, blissfully unaware of the aching pain of the one surrounded by flesh and bone.

* * *

Guinevere stared vacantly at the navy waves below the pale mauve sky. They rose and broke with their little crests of white foam, licking the ship's creaking hull. The first stars had appeared, glimmering like tiny shards of crystal strewn across smooth, polished amethyst.

She thought about her recent encounter with Jack, silently berating herself for flirting with him like she had. But she couldn't help it. He made it so easy. Her mind was hissing at her to stop before she got in to deep. And her heart was urging her to enjoy it.

Besides, it couldn't hurt, could it? Just some harmless words and looks, purely for the thrill of it.

It wouldn't go anywhere, anyway. She was _not _besotted with the pirate. But still, as the breeze tumbled her hair across her face, she bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder to where Jack sat.

The crew had gathered in the centre of the deck to eat for the evening. The atmosphere was rather tense, with much speculation of their surroundings.

It was entertaining to listen to, but Guinevere had her own idea. She believed this realm existed only to house the Fountain of Youth. An entire world created only to hold a fountain. Jack agreed with this, voicing his own opinion that it was the sort of thing the sea goddess Calypso would do. She had always enjoyed confusing matters.

"Besides," he had said. "What's an adventure minus the mystique, aye?"

The smell of grilling meat filled the air, and Guinevere's stomach gave an involuntary rumble. She went to sit with the pirates and eat.

Barbossa and Gibbs were deep in conversation.

"Surely, sir, ye must have some inkling as to where our destination be?"

"Nay. We've all the time in the world. All we've to do is to use our deadlights, keep our animal instincts keen, and we'll find it, mark me words."

Jack downed the rest of his food and turned to join in.

"What say you, mystic?" his dark eyes danced in the firelight, thoroughly enjoying putting her on the spot. "Any ghosties a-mumbling in yer ear?"

"As always," she replied steadily, sipping from a tin cup. "We're on the right track, that much I can say."

Having slept for several hours during the day, the crew had decided democratically to sail at night to escape the raw heat of the sunlight. It was a risky enough task, but with every lantern lit, the _Black Pearl _had just about enough light to navigate by. Luckily, that night the moon was full. It gazed down on the black, fathomless sea grandly, spilling out sweet, silvery moonlight.

Barbossa flexed his hand in the light as though to make sure it was still wrapped in flesh. Nights like this still unnerved him slightly.

Out of habit, he reached for Sao Feng's maps, but drew back, remembering that they had served their purpose. They had led them to this place. But what would bring them the last stretch?

Nothing, that was what. For now, they would simply wander.

* * *

Guinevere and Elizabeth sat below in the hold, rummaging idly through the crates. Guinevere had been meaning to find some new garb since entering this new, stiflingly hot world.

She dragged out a teal-blue linen sleeveless waistcoat, followed by a clean-ish white shirt with billowing sleeves. She stuck with her stained brown breeches, as they were large and airy. They were far too big for her, but they were preferable to skin-tight sailor's trousers.

"I've never told you about my husband, have I?" Elizabeth asked, propping Liam up in her lap.

Guinevere chewed her lip. "I thought it impolite to ask, really." Admittedly, though, she had been curious for some time.

"You thought right," laughed Elizabeth. "But I'll tell you anyway."

She proceeded to tell Guinevere the full story of her and Will: the unrequited love, the rescue, the mutual love, the fateful interruption of their wedding, and so on, right up to Will being stabbed and captaining the _Flying Dutchman_.

"I'm…sorry," whispered Guinevere once Elizabeth was through. She couldn't imagine having to loose one's true love to such a cruel fate. Then again, she couldn't imagine someone loving her enough to rescue her from a bloodthirsty crew of cursed pirates, either. It was all quite new to her.

"Yes," said Elizabeth, "but no point in sobbing my sorry heart out now. Only almost another nine years to go." Here her voice broke, and for a moment Guinevere worried she might cry. She composed herself, however, and looked at her.

"What about you?"

"What _about _me?"

"Do you have anyone? A husband?"

"Me? No." Guinevere said truthfully.

"Hmm," Elizabeth raised her eyebrows knowingly. "I thought not."

"Why did you think so?"

"Be careful around Jack, Guinevere. You're a good person, and I care about you. Don't let him hurt you."

"_What?_"

"Oh, he's a good person too, of course. But we'll never know what goes on in his head, the way he thinks."

"I am _not _soft on Jack! He hired me for this journey, and my relationship towards him is purely professional…" she tried to protest, but her words trailed away, deserting her, and as they left her lips she realised how unconvincing they sounded.

"I'm not," she added, just for clarity.

"If you say so," replied Elizabeth, clearly not believing a word. She leaned over a crate, delving at random.

"If you don't believe me, then—"

"Guinevere, I believe you." Elizabeth lied, a twinkle in her eyes. "These hats are good for keeping the sun off your face, you know. I recommend one."

She threw a black tricorn hat to her. Guinevere caught it.

"Get changed and come up on deck when you're ready." Elizabeth left.

Guinevere groaned exasperatedly and threw the hat over her shoulder into a corner.

_Why, _she thought, _is everyone on this bloody ship trying to convince me I'm soft on Jack? I think if I was, I'd know! _

Seething, she tugged on the new clothing. It unnerved her slightly to find dry bloodstains one the inner lining of the waistcoat, but she couldn't afford to be picky.

She stayed in the hold for another little while, feeling the need to allow herself to calm down. She examined the foreign golden coins in their caskets, and the silver pedants encrusted with rubies and emeralds the size of robin's eggs. Damp wooden crates held fine silks and exotic rings and numerous medallions with different gems and patterns.

Having grown up happily yet poorly, Guinevere had never seen such riches. However, they held little value in her mind. Could diamonds bring luck? Could gold induce intellect? Could jewels beget true friendship, happiness, or kindness? No, no and no again.

* * *

**A/N: Hm. Not much going on in this chapter, so forgive me. So, Gwen has now entered the wicked yet oh-so-amusing stage of denial. XD**

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**XShadowCatX: Touché. Gwen's log may be read by Jack at some point, actually. Nice guess XD. **

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	10. A Dream

Chapter Ten: A Dream

_Jack dreamed._

_He was in a heavily wooded forest, and the shimmer of fireflies speckled the warm evening air. He was sitting with many other half-forgotten, half-known faces in the shadow of a vast willow tree. Its long, delicate tendrils just brushed the lush grass, creating a curtained haven._

_A celebration of some sort seemed to be in progress. People danced. Shanties were taken up. Laughter echoed around the clearing. Drinks flowed freely. Music warbled merrily: fiddle, flute, and many others Jack could not name._

_Lovers chased alluringly around the thick tree trunk. Women fawned over Jack, smiling sweetly. But one woman in particular snagged his interest. He chased her playfully around the tree, and her laughter, a warm, melodious sound, floated behind her._

_He ran faster, his desire to catch her made all the more determined by her resistance. People laughed and cheered._

_Finally he caught up with the maiden, and they collapsed upon the ground. Something in his memory gave a little tug._

_Laughing and panting, he flipped her over to kiss her, and stopped._

_Lying on the grass beneath him was Guinevere._

Jack woke with a jolt and sat bolt upright in his cabin. He looked around, taking a deep breath. No woods. No willow tree. And no Guinevere.

He lay back down, feeling inexplicably disappointed that he had woken.

* * *

Several hours later, still in the early hours of morning, Jack sat alone in his cabin, flipping aimlessly through weathered books with too much this and too little that. He had always had limited if any interest at all in literature. Some were too complicated, others too simple, too dull, too fanatical.

He had never understood why people were content just to _read _about adventures.

Why read stories, he had once told his father, when you can have your own adventures? Be your own hero, meet your own supporting characters? Real people, not just ink and paper.

On one occasion Elizabeth had tried to explain the beauties of imaginary tales.

"They can take you anywhere," she had said.

"Why'd I want to go anywhere in a book, when I can sail there in the flesh an' blood?" he had reasoned.

Without warning, someone tapped loudly on the cabin door.

"Aye?"

Guinevere opened the door, looking tired, not to mention a tad distraught. "Barbossa wanted me to tell you, we're on the right track. We've got a vague heading."

"Why so blue, luv?"

She shook her head, looking away. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"If you'd tell me-"

"I'm fine, Jack," she repeated determinedly.

"As you do, then."

She left, clicking the door behind her.

Guinevere went back to bed, willing herself to calm down. It was very early morning, and she had been woken in her sleep by distressed screams. She had leapt from bed to see who was in danger, only to realise the cries were in her head. Spirits.

Reluctantly, she had told Barbossa that they were on the right path to the Fountain. Many a sailor had died on the same route they were now taking. Guinevere could detect the road like a bird could a breadcrumb trail. Unfortunately.

The cries were so vivid, so real, and so…alive. How ironic.

* * *

Elizabeth stood on deck, Liam burbling happily in her arms. The wind was high this morning, a pleasant change to unbearable heat that seemed to be the norm here. It rushed up her nostrils, clean and fresh, and whipped at her face.

The entire crew was in good spirits, and as they went about there duty, they took up a shanty they all knew.

"_Fifteen men on a dead man's chest-_

_Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!_

_Drink and devil had done for the rest-_

_Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!"_

Despite the grim meaning behind the song, they sang it cheerily, and Elizabeth joined in quietly, singing in her son's ear.

Guinevere presently joined them, looking exhausted. She sat down nearby, content to just listen to the sailor's songs that the pirates chanted so naturally. She had never heard such music before, and was surprised at how wonderful it sounded, even minus any instrumental input.

She snapped out of her daze as Jack appeared seemingly out of nowhere and threw himself into a sitting position next to her. She looked over her shoulder and observed him. His face was more drawn than usual, his eyes appearing darker due to the shadows beneath them.

"You're tired. Long night?"

Jack sighed and passed a hand over his face. "You have no idea."

"Yes, actually, I do."

They lapsed into silence and Guinevere busied herself with fastening the collar buttons of her waistcoat, the better to keep out the wind.

Jack grinned. "You know they say about showing more skin, don't you?"

"If I did, you wouldn't be telling me. Go on."

"The more the merrier."

She slapped his chest in a combination of real and mock outrage. He chuckled, than looked away for a moment. The crew had stopped singing.

"You ever heard any nautical songs, luv?"

"How could I have? I've lived on land my entire life."

"You poor, deprived waif." Jack simpered sarcastically. He started to continue, but Guinevere wasn't listening.

She had jumped from her sitting position as if she had been burned, and was staring intently over the side into the choppy water.

She looked up after a moment, her blue-grey eyes brimming with uncertain anxiety. "I thought I saw something down there."

"Such as?" Jack joined her by the rail.

"It was…black. And glossy. I was there just for a moment; it weaved back into the water." She glanced over her shoulder. The crew were still going about their duties, perfectly at ease.

Jack shook his head, evidently relaxing. "The sun plays cruel tricks on eyes at sea, luv. It was either that else it was just an overlarge trout."

Guinevere opened her mouth to argue, but closed it once more with a shake of her head. There was no sense in arguing with him.

**A/N: Apologies for the late update. I've barely had time to eat and sleep this week, let alone write a fanfic, so I scraped this together today in a single sitting. So if you don't like this chapter, there's my alibi. But hopefully it's not too bad. XD**

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**YANIsweetness7: Here it is! :D**

**XShadowCatX: More Jack in this chapter! XD**


	11. On The Horizon

Chapter Eleven: On the Horizon

She was too innocent. Too innocent by far.

Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea, the most dashing and notoriously famed pirate of the age did _not _develop soft spots for charming seers.

He grimaced in agitation as the needle of his compass swivelled to and fro, dancing behind the little glass face. He sometimes viewed his compass as a living person, a callous one, one who delighted in taunting him with facts that it didn't fancy revealing. He dropped it on the wood of the table with a dull thunk.

She was too innocent, too pure. True, she had her fair share of secrets and tales left untold, but didn't everyone? Her eyes were still filled with awe at every fresh sunrise and sunset at sea, and she was a stranger to the riddles and exploits with which he had been faced in the past.

However, lust, Jack realized with relief, is a much different specimen to the dreaded "L Word".

* * *

Guinevere hummed lightly to herself as she tipped out the contents of her satchel in search of her quill. Her grandmother's spectacles, a green cotton scarf, her log book, and her now-crumpled green silk dress. Delving deeper still, she plucked out something else: a carved wooden rose.

No longer than her index finger, the little timber flower was made with expertise. Its petals appeared lush and soft, and its stem was slender with several tiny, jagged wooden thorns spiking out at irregular intervals.

She held it for a moment, lost in thought, and ran a finger along the gentle curves of the petals. Guinevere sighed softly as the memories the small trinket brought washed over her: heartbreak, death, love, pain. Such terrible reminiscences entwined with such cherished memoirs, all contained in the little ornament held in her palm.

It then occurred to her just how thin the line between joy and despair truly was. It was skeletal as spider's silk that quivered underneath the impact of a droplet of silver rain.

She nestled the rose in the folds of her green dress, ensuring it could come to no harm, and climbed up to the deck, forsaking her search for the quill.

* * *

"We're close. Very, very close."

"Oh? We should hope so."

Guinevere shook her head doubtfully. "No, we shouldn't. If what I believe is correct, many more innocent men have lost their lives at the Fountain rather than travelling to it."

Elizabeth's face dropped. "I feel that if we'd half a mind, we'd turn our sails t'ward home this instant. But clearly we're insane."

Guinevere smiled in spite of her worries. "I'm inclined to agree with you on that side."

"Aye," agreed Jack from his spot by the helm, "You must indeed be insane to pursue such an adventure. And adventure is a fickle temptress indeed." While speaking the last three words he gave Guinevere a rather suggestive glance. Elizabeth either did not notice, or, more likely, pretended not too.

"I'd better fetch Liam," she said after another few minutes of talk. "He's usually awakening by now, and if he isn't, I'll have to rouse him. He'll be fussing all night if I don't." She left in the direction of her cabin.

"Stop!" Guinevere hissed at Jack the moment she was out of earshot.

"Stop what?" he drawled annoyingly.

"_That!_"

"Stop that what?" he smirked, clearly pleased to have made her uncomfortable.

"You know what I mean, Jack! Don't play the simpleton!"

"No, I believe I don't."

"Oh, I think you do." Guinevere narrowed her eyes and advanced a step forward, in what she hoped was a menacing manner. Perhaps threat was the best way to prove she wasn't interested…or was she? Two separate forced were battling to the death inside her mind.

"Luv, I have no…" Jack's smirk widened as he too moved forward. It was the second time in days they'd been this close. Her mind raced.

"…idea…" he continued slowly. She didn't move an inch. Her mind wouldn't fully process whether she didn't want to move or just couldn't, because the battle of thoughts was still raging.

"…you're talking about." Their eyes locked; his hands slid onto her waist. Their faces were mere inches apart, growing closer all the time.

"Jack, I don't think…"

But what Guinevere didn't think, Jack didn't find out. Like two clumsy moths faced with bright light, and with no more weight than that, their lips brushed.

"I don't think you should have done that, Jack," she said in a low but firm voice.

"You're honestly not telling me you didn't enjoy that, luv?"

Guinevere exhaled deeply, looked at him for a moment, and then roughly pushed him back. She started to walk away, and then whipped around.

"What," she snapped, "gave you the right to do that?"

Jack began to reply, a smart comment, no doubt, but stopped and frowned thoughtfully.

"Jack Sparrow, I am _not _going to end up as another notch on your bedpost! I refuse, you hear me?" she gave him a withering glance and flounced off in the direction of her cabin.

Jack laid a hand on the helm, frowning in thought. What had just happened?

He had been right, of course. She was too innocent. Too innocent by far.

He ran a hand across his head and breathed out slowly. His tremendous intuition of the female creature was leading him a merry dance.

His coffee-black eyes raked the horizon, then widened. A ship. A ship with white sails, anchored down far ahead.

* * *

Guinevere threw herself down onto the bed in her cabin, her head in her hands. Somewhere, deep inside her internal struggle moments before, someone had cheated. Her heart had cheated. Her heart had, unfairly, in a rush of adrenalin, betrayed a respectful battle against her better judgement and conned its way to victory.

And, she thought as a mystified jumble of emotions enveloped her, she could name another breed of person whose hearts allowed them to cheat.

Pirates.

Somewhere above, Jack gave a yell.

* * *

**A/N: So so sorry about the late update. I've been really busy! Anyway, this chapter is pretty short, but I think I managed to cram a lot in, don't you guys? ;D**

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**XShadowCatX: Aww, thank you! It's nice to know people genuinely like this story!**

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	12. Captain Dreyfus

Chapter Twelve: Captain Dreyfus

Guinevere was among the first crew members to respond to Jack's cry. Within moments she had staggered up the chipped wooden steps which only moments before she had trampled down in a fit of emotion.

Jack stood there, gazing out to open sea with his hands lying somewhat lamely at his sides. His widened eyes flicked once towards the group and his arm shot up, his index finger pointing at the horizon. He opened his mouth several times, but no words seemed to process. Finally he croaked:

"Boat!"

Guinevere's head snapped around so quickly she very nearly obtained a crick in her neck.

There it was. The schooner was stationary; its pure white sails billowing in an almost non-existent gust of wind. It was not flying any colours.

"Another party after the Fountain?" Gibbs barked unsurely.

"Another party returning from the Fountain?" Elizabeth pondered.

"Or worse," stated Barbossa grimly. "In any case, there be a need ter converse with our new neighbours. It's rude to ignore company. If they be fellow pirates, that could be trouble. If they're Navy men that went off course…well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Gibbs, signal them down. We'll board as soon as possible."

"Aye," agreed Jack. "Liz and Joshamee, you two can manage taking charge for a few hours, savvy?" he determinedly ignored Guinevere.

"Good," she said stubbornly, "that means I'll be able to come."

"Not a chance." Jack cut across her.

"I'm coming, _Captain._" Guinevere repeated forcefully, and gave Jack such a withering look that he complied at once. "What do you say, Barbossa?"

"Tis not a problem with me, Miss Van Dort, so long as ye can hold yer own in a potential scrap."

"Aye, can you kill if you have to?" Jack added, only too delighted to find a reason to stop her from coming.

She hesitated. This was too important a subject to bluff her way through. "No. Probably not. I don't think so."

Jack looked satisfied, but a thoughtful look crossed Barbossa's weathered face. The girl was a lot more pure than he had come to believe. "You're in. I'll stay in command here."

"_What?_" Jack looked as though he'd been slapped.

"Thank you!" Guinevere beamed. She didn't know why Barbossa had admitted her, but she was glad. She hurried to fetch the blade Gibbs had given her, for safety's sake.

She reappeared on deck moments later, and Jack and Barbossa were looking impressively relaxed compared to her jittery nervousness.

"Shouldn't we weigh anchor, then? They're expecting us to board…"

Gibbs nodded in agreement.

"True," grinned Jack, "But say they're a gaggle o' murderous scallywags? Tis unwise to lead yer ship to the mercy of the unknown, luv. We'll get there, though."

"But it's alright to wander over there with no backup if they are murderers?!"

"That is debatable, luv."

And without the slightest warning, he had seized Guinevere's wrist and plunged over the side of the ship, dragging her into the swash.

"Oh- you _can _swim, can you not?" Jack asked once Guinevere's head emerged, coughing up salt water above the waves.

She threw him a filthy look and began to swim towards the white-sailed vessel that stood in the distance. "Luckily for you, yes, I can."

They paddled steadily for a little while. Jack was a stronger swimmer than she, but showed no signs of slowing to accommodate her better. She would have refused help even if he had offered it.

Eventually they drew level with the craft. The name of the ship: _Fuente de la Juventud, _was visible in golden paint on the side of the hull.

There was a call from above, and she caught sight of a grubby-looking young sailor, peering over the side as she and Jack bobbed in the current.

"Lanza una línea!" The man nodded obligingly at someone of sight and tossed a thickly woven rope over the rail. Jack caught it. Within moments, the two were dripping water on the deck.

A small group of sailors looked back at them. They did not smile, but none appeared overly menacing either. They appeared to be of Spanish lineage.

A tall man in his thirties stepped forward. His hair was tied neatly back and the blackest black, framing his darkly tanned face and unusual green eyes. He was better kept than the rest, sporting an embroidered forest green jacket and black breeches. "Qué idioma habla?"

The pair said nothing. Guinevere was painfully aware of the silver blade strapped to her leg.

"Italiano? Polaco?"

Nothing.

The man - Guinevere presumed him to be the captain, or someone of high standing – muttered what was surely a curse under his breath and ran a hand through his hair. His tried a different tack, and asked, in perfect yet slightly accented English: "What language do you speak? English?"

"Aye," Jack nodded at last. " Captain Jack Sparrow. Captaining the _Black Pearl_."

The man nodded. "Capitán Eduardo Dreyfus. Of the Fuente_._"

The group of men inclined their heads respectfully towards Jack, and a few even bowed politely to Guinevere.

"And who, may I ask, Captain Sparrow, is your delightful friend here? Mrs. Sparrow?"

"What? Oh, no, no, no. She's an employee. Van Dort."

"Well, Miss Van Dort, I am charmed to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise," replied Guinevere uneasily.

* * *

**A/N: Late update, short chapter – sorry! So busy. **

**XShadowCatX: Glad you liked the last chapter!**

**BleedingRoses92: Thanks!**


	13. Rioja Wine

Chapter Thirteen: Rioja Wine

"You're in search of the Fountain, you say?" Dreyfus asked, his tone low.

"I do say." Jack confirmed. "But, I've noticed that you haven't answered my question- are you?"

"Indeed, Captain Sparrow. Why on earth would a humble crew such as mine be sailing in these doldrums if we were not?"

The two captains continued to exchange questions in this vein, keeping the tone light.

Guinevere perched on a stool near the door in Dreyfus' cabin, her expression slightly sullen. She felt as if she were a child, not being included in adult's affairs. She was still wet from her swim to the _Fuente de la Juventud_, her raven hair dripping steadily onto the richly-coloured rug that lay over the polished wooden floor of the berth.

"Aye… and how long have ye been a-wandering?"

"Oh, a long, long time. Yet I hold strong in my belief that the Fountain is closer than we all think."

Guinevere frowned, her tangled hair hiding her face from view. She didn't quite understand that statement, but she agreed with it. The screams were ringing hauntingly in her ears, and her skin was cold. She shivered, folding her arms tightly.

Captain Dreyfus noticed. He turned his head slowly towards her, as if spotting her for the first time. "But Miss Van Dort is cold! Velez, fetch a cloak, quickly."

"No," Guinevere said sharply. "No, I'm alright, thank you."

"But I insist," countered Dreyfus calmly. "You shall have no less than the greatest comfort on board my vessel."

Guinevere didn't argue as a tall sailor handed her a red cloak. She was wary. She felt as though she _should _like Dreyfus. He was polite and respectable, even for a pirate. But something wasn't right in the way he looked at her, and she wanted off this ship as soon as possible.

"And incidentally…" Dreyfus produced a clear glass bottle red wine, much to Jack's delight. He filled up three short glasses, and handed them to Guinevere and Jack. "Enjoy. It was made in my homeland."

Jack immediately downed his glass, but Guinevere pressed the glass to her tightly closed lips, not swallowing a drop. She had no plans to get drunk again, especially not on an alien ship like this.

This ship…

"Excuse me- but what does the name of your ship mean? In English?" she asked, suddenly feeling a tad more confident.

"Ah." The same dark, almost shifty look passed over Dreyfus's visage. She didn't like it. "What do you yourself think it means?"

"Haven't you ever heard that it's rude to answer a question with a question?"

Dreyfus raised an eyebrow, amused. He waited for a response to his query.

"Well," said Guinevere slowly. "I don't actually speak a word of Spanish. But I do have limited French, and in French 'de la' is possessive, or meaning 'of'."

"Very good."

"So are you going to tell me?"

"Hmm. Lets play a little game, shall we? Excellent. If you've guessed the name of this ship correctly by the time you leave, you get _this _as a reward." He plucked a small, unsmoothed piece of onyx from a nearby pot.

Jack slugged down more wine beside them.

"Um, alright then."

Dreyfus extended a tanned hand for her to shake, sealing the deal. She reached out and took it, just as Jack toppled over his chair, unconscious.

"Jack! J-" Guinevere's shocked exclamation was cut short as she tried to bend by his side, only to realise that Dreyfus had tightened his grip on her wrist.

Her blood ran cold at the wolfish way in which he sneered at her.

"You're a clever woman, Miss Van Dort, not to drink the wine. I suppose you noticed I hadn't, either?"

Guinevere had begun to shake, and her heart was pounding. Each beat felt like a leaden brick being dropped on her chest. She twisted her wrist in his strong grasp.

"Why-? What did you do to him?!" she managed to force out.

"Why indeed." Dreyfus smirked.

As if by clockwork, two robust sailors seized her arms from behind and began to force her towards the doorway. Her eyes lingered on Jack, slumped on the floor, and the wine staining the rug.

"No! No! Let _go _of me, you lying swine-! Jack!"

She was suddenly frantic, and acting purely on impulse, was clinging to bookcases and tables and scratching at the two men. One dragged her away, grabbing her hair. She spat in his face, and he grunted disgustedly, before cuffing her around the back of the head.

And everything was shaking, there were four crew members instead of two, and Guinevere could barely keep her eyes open for sickening pain…

She lashed out vaguely at the men's faces and necks, and they struck her again. And again.

Smothering darkness claimed her, and she collapsed onto the cabin floor.

Dreyfus glanced at her, before calmly ordering his men to get rid of her in Spanish.

They responded with confusion, and he elaborated: "Sólo ciérrela con llave en la cabina de comedor." Just lock her in the dining cabin.

They obliged, scooping her motionless form from the floor and leaving. Dreyfus followed. He slammed with door behind him and locked it.

The wine glass slipped from Jack's stationary hand, shattering on the wooden floorboards. He twitched.

* * *

On board the _Black Pearl_, Ragetti sat on the rail, one thin leg slung over the side. He was leaning back, looking at the pale clouds that swam through the almost white sky.

A flock of black birds darted past overhead, uttering hoarse screeches. They were roughly the size of geese, though with a larger wingspan.

His eye followed the flock as they flapped on towards the horizon.

And then he very nearly toppled into the water.

"Mr. Barbossa, sir!" he yelled.

"What is it, ye dog?" Barbossa roared back.

"The…the ship, the one Jack and the girl went to…"

"What about it?"

"It's…it's leaving, sir."

And sure enough, the tip of the schooner's white sails were just disappearing past the horizon.

* * *

**A/N: Oooh! Cliff-hanger! **

**BleedingRoses92: Haha, I couldn't resist slipping that in. XD**

**KazeNoSasayaki2494: Wow. That's one of the best compliments ever, as Jack's pretty challenging to write and keep in character. Thank you!**

**XShadowCatX: The "boat" moment seemed like something Jack would do to me. I could really picture it! :D**


	14. A Letter and a Bargain

Chapter Fourteen: A Letter and a Bargain

"Who's out there?"

A voice, nervous but demanding, floated around the door of the dining cabin. The sailor guarding it looked up at from the blade he had been sharpening, and looked momentarily at the key still firmly jammed in the keyhole.

"Answer me; I can hear you out there." Her voice comes again, frightened yet clearly trying to sound fierce.

He ran a hand over his bald head and resumed his work, ignoring her.

Guinevere sighed on the other side of the door. For the first little while after she had woken, she had cried. She thought if she allowed herself to feel afraid just for a small amount of time, the fear would leave her. And it had.

She hadn't cried for herself. She had cried for Jack. Though she was almost certain that the drink had merely drugged him, he had seemed eerily still when he hit the floor. Or perhaps it was just her imagination.

And having wept, her mind was now clear and alert.

The room she was trapped inside appeared to be a dining cabin of some kind. It was clear Dreyfus and his men had not been expecting company, for the room was still furnished with potential weapons she could make use of- a thick glass vase on the table, a shelf laden with heavy books, and a letter-opener.

Of course, she had no real need of the letter-opener. It pained her to remember that Gibb's knife was still strapped into place on her shin, that she had forgotten it in her struggle with Dreyfus's pirates. _How could I have been so brainless?_

Dreyfus. That man was a pathetic excuse for a human being, the treacherous, deceiving liar. Guinevere felt sure he was slightly lecherous too, though not in the comfortable, charming 'Jack' kind of lecherous.

Shaking away her thoughts, she set to work. If one of those men was to come into this room, whatever his reason, she'd be ready.

She seized the vase and dumped out the stagnant water and long-since-dead roses in front of the doorway. Their dry, wrinkled petals had been abandoned by their colour. She scooped one up and fingered it for a moment, eying it sadly. Then she placed the vase back on the table, the letter-opener by its side. She'd leave her knife where it was. Hopefully it wouldn't be forgotten again.

Nothing happened for a great deal of time.

She leaned against the timber wall behind the bookshelf, willing herself to be calm. She felt ill from the tension of the last few hours. Where was the _Black Pearl_? They were only a few leagues away. Shouldn't they have come to collect them by now?

She tore open a drawer beneath the shelf, hunting for something to break. Instead she pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment.

_Querido Lord Dacez,_

_Todos están bien, aunque hayamos perdido nuestro camino en aguas desconocidas. Tengo la intención de enviar a esta carta el momento que hacemos el puerto, tan si usted debería recibirlo, somos seguros. Si no, señor, se preparan para el peor._

_Capitán Dreyfus_

Guinevere could only decipher two things. Firstly, the letter had been written by Dreyfus. Secondly, it had been addressed to a Lord. His superior.

_Dreyfus is a privateer, _she thought to herself. This did not bode well. She wondered again about her unanswered question of the ship's title.

She flipped the paper over to discover one final shock. A date was scrawled on the back. It was not written a month ago, nor a year. This letter had been composed fourteen years ago.

Just as she placed a hand on the drawer's handle to close it, someone tapped on the door.

"Stay away from the door, girlie. Drop any weapons, or you will be shot." The guard's warning, so blunt and casual, made her blood run cold.

She swore quietly, foully, under her breath. She shouldn't have allowed herself to become distracted. She barely had shoved the letter behind her back when the door opened abruptly.

Dreyfus entered, unarmed, looking as calm and unruffled as ever. He took his time about closing the door, and looked around the room before stepping further in.

He took a single glance at the puddle before the doorway and clucked his tongue, stepping over it. "Did you really think that something as mundane as _water _would cause me to stumble, Miss Van Dort?"

Guinevere felt her eyes smoulder. She definitely wouldn't forget her knife this time.

But rather than advance on her, Dreyfus simply sat at the large table.

"Sit, if you please."

Guinevere didn't move, nor did she speak.

"As you do, then. Miss Van Dort, as you have hopefully realized, I have not come here to cause harm. I have come to propose a bargain."

Here, Guinevere made a small sound of disbelief. "Captain, I don't believe in bargains." Her toned was stony.

Dreyfus raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"It would seem that it always tends to end more so in one person's favour than the others."

"Ah."

A beat of silence.

"Well, it may not please you to hear this, but I'm afraid you have little say in the matter. I am merely informing you of what will happen."

Sickly curiosity bubbled in her stomach. "And that is?"

"Miss Van Dort, you are the first lady to cross paths with this ship in many moons. I have not forgotten how women behave. And you do not behave in said manner."

Guinevere frowned, crushing the letter into a tight ball behind her back. There was something off about this vessel.

"No," he continued. "You have a way about you. A way I have seen before in but one other woman. She was a clairvoyant."

Guinevere's expression betrayed her astonishment. Dreyfus smiled.

"How do you…" Guinevere began to snap.

"It is not important. However, we would have great use for a woman of your abilities on board my ship," he smiled again, almost attractively, but Guinevere wasn't looking at him.

"And in return?" she said quietly.

"And in return, I shall allow your captain friend to leave the _Fuente de la Juventud _unharmed, once his ship has found us."

Guinevere took a deep breath, unable to process her predicament. The _Black Pearl _had fallen behind.

"And if… and if I should refuse?" Guinevere was subdued. So Dreyfus had found a way to get to her.

"Then, much to my regret," Dreyfus said, looking fairly unregretful, "My men will kill the two of you. We shall only keep you on board the _Fuente_ should you cooperate. Should you not, we have no use for you. Either of you. "

The statement was expected, yet hauntingly honest. She had no doubt the crew would slaughter the she and Jack on the slightest command.

"Well," said Dreyfus softly, standing. "I do imagine that's left you with something to think about. It is just past Witching Hour. You have until dawn to speak of your decision- I am patient."

Smirking tauntingly, he left, locking the door behind him.

Guinevere's head was pounding, her throat was dry. She could feel the warm tears swimming in her eyes, refusing to fall. And how her eyes, already puffy and red, could produce more tears, she just didn't know.

Without a sound, she drew her knife- unused, once more- and flung it at the timber wall.

She sank to the floor, hugging her knees as the blade quivered, embedded in the wood. All weapons had been forgotten. And all her faith that she knew what she was doing had deserted her.

So it had come down to this. A single, glassy tear tumbled down her cold cheek.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the late update!**

**Review replies:**

**KazeNoSasayaki2494: You'll see Jack next chapter, don't worry. :)**

**Kaito142: Hehe, I thought, "Now what's the one thing that could get Jack to drop his guard? RUM." **

**XShadowCatX: Update is here!!**


	15. Interference

Chapter Fifteen: Interference

"You," Elizabeth snarled, a wailing Liam bundled in her arms, "are going on board that ship. Youare going to find Jack and Guinevere. And you will bring them back with you, or else _you will not come back at all!_" She raised her voice dangerously during the last few syllables.

Barbossa regarded her darkly. "Ever hit a woman, Master Pintel?"

Pintel, who had been quietly tightening knots on the ship's rigging, looked up. "No, sir, I never."

"I have."

"Hector!" Elizabeth's use of Barbossa's first name seemed to make him take her seriously. She looked quite vicious, her hair falling across her face and gritting her teeth.

"There may be only so much that I can do at this stage, Miss Turner. Jack and the lass may be feedin' the carp by now."

Elizabeth made a hissing sound. "They. Are. Not. Dead."

"And where be yer solid proof?"

"I just know. I would know."

Barbossa shook his head, but didn't argue any further.

Elizabeth hugged Liam to herself, breathing in his warm scent, training her brown eyes on the horizon. It pained her not to be able to join in the action that was sure to occur, but her son needed her.

The deck was a swarm of activity, every man on board ready and willing to lay down his life in order to rescue their captain. There was a grim look in every eye. The schooner in the far distance was large, and therefore a threat. It wouldn't be simple.

The dark sky looked down on them, unwaveringly calm. So calm that Elizabeth felt the need to be horribly worried just to make up for it.

* * *

Guinevere sat numbly by the door. She couldn't feel afraid. Or angry. Or even upset. She could only feel helpless, as though she was caught in the tide, and pulled into the vast unknown.

At one point she had begun to drift into an unsettled sleep, disturbed by haunting thoughts and memories. It had lasted but a few moments, until a yellowed scrap of parchment had been slipped under the door.

It hadn't been written by Dreyfus. Its scrawling letters differed from his on the mystery letter. No, it had been slipped in by a crew member. And a black-hearted one, at that.

_Dawn draws near as the cockerel cries. Nearer still as the cockerel dies._

Said note now lay, discarded, near her. So daybreak was close. _How, _she wondered, _can something so full of hope and beauty bring about something as awful as this?_

At any rate, their goading little note was pointless. Her mind was made up.

She had to stay. She had known that from the moment Dreyfus presented her with her options. How could he even think that she would consider the latter? That choice was a dead end. Then again, someone as twisted as Dreyfus may well expect her to choose death rather than unhappiness.

She gave a little jolt as the door was thrust open.

"Time to go, girlie."

Jack sat in the same chair in Dreyfus's cabin, booted feet propped up on the glass-top desk. He whistled quietly, quite at ease. The _Pearl _couldn't be far off.

The door opened, heralding the arrival of Dreyfus, two of his (armed) men, and an ill-looking Guinevere. His eyes glinted when he saw her, but she didn't seem to be able to muster a smile.

"Sit." One of the sailors prodded her in the back with the barrel of his flintlock. She nodded, her expression broken, and Jack frowned. What had they done to her?

"For the record, I think I'd like some brandy this time, mate. The wine wasn't too kind on me stomach."

"I wouldn't be making jokes, were I you. Not when you've yet to learn of what Miss Van Dort has to say."

Jack looked at her. Not a fearful look, not all that curious either. Just a calm, simple look.

"Well, niña. Go ahead. Tell your…friend about what we discussed."

Guinevere shook her head slightly. She wouldn't be ridiculed like this. Not in front of Jack. She would be strong. At least, as strong as she could allow herself to be.

"I…" she faltered. "I… have to stay, Jack. And you can go." Her voice came out soft, cracked.

"What?" Had he misheard, or simply didn't believe what he was being told?

"You have to go. Barbossa, Elizabeth… they'll be here soon. You have to leave with them."

Dreyfus watched the scene unfold, smiling wolfishly. "You see, Captain Sparrow, she and I have reached an agreement. You may leave the _Fuente de la Juventud _unharmed, on one condition. That she does not leave."

There was a brief pause, during which Jack's mouth worked silently. Finally, to Guinevere's relief, he nodded.

"Right. But jus' so's you know, mate. Captain Jack Sparrow never gives up what's his."

"Ah." Dreyfus watched him carefully. "I see. So, pray tell me, Captain Sparrow: do you love her?"

Guinevere held her breath, looking at the floor.

"And what use is that information of to you?" Jack replied evenly, his tone guarded.

"Curiosity, simply. That is to say, you wish no harm to come to her?" Dreyfus's eyes had darkened; a sinister air had crept over his tone.

"Aye. Though harm is a broad statement. What's to say she ain't harmed right now, harmed in the head?"

"A worthy argument. But tell me, Sparrow… to what lengths would you go to to ensure she comes to no physical harm?"

Still rather relaxed, Jack opened his mouth to reply, but closed it rather abruptly as a deafening crash issued from somewhere above.

The sailors standing by the door jumped, but Dreyfus remained stationary.

Guinevere glanced up, a flicker of warm hope in her eyes. The _Black Pearl_?

"And so it begins." Dreyfus murmured, a disquieting smile dancing on his lips.

* * *

**A/N: I'm baa-aaaaack! **


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